


we could breathe underwater

by vivelapluto



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, One-Shot, goblet of fire au!, it's just like that lake scene but enjoltaire, just the second task tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 12:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivelapluto/pseuds/vivelapluto
Summary: drowning, without oxygen, or enjolras, triwizard champion, desperate to save grantaire, the one person he would miss the most.





	we could breathe underwater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oddlyqueer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddlyqueer/gifts).



_ Come seek us where our voices sound,  _

_ We cannot sing above the ground,  _

_ And while you re searching, ponder this:  _

_ Wove taken what you'll sorely miss,  _

_ An hour long you'll have to look, _

_ And to recover what we took,  _

_ But past an hour- the prospect's black,  _

_ Too late, it's gone, it won’t come back _

* * *

 

It’s approximately two a.m. when Enjolras figures out the riddle. He’s half-asleep (never fully so; lately his mind has never been quiet enough to allow for true rest), and then suddenly he’s bolt upright, sheets tangling around his leg like a tourniquet as he practically falls out of bed.

_ The lake. _

It’s the lake. Something about the lake, and the merpeople, and—

He needs to get to the library. 

Enjolras has never paid much heed to the rules (nor to a healthy sleep schedule) and so sneaking around after midnight is not uncommon for him. He knows the passages, knows to stay light on his feet, knows to slip into the Ravenclaw dorms and shake Combeferre awake, asking him in a voice so soft it’s barely audible to join him. 

They tiptoe down the halls, bleary-eyed and still slightly disoriented, poring over books in the restricted section and not daring to utter a word.

“Gillyweed.” Combeferre says finally. “It’s risky, but it’s your best bet. And I know where to get some.” Though he’s already speaking in a hushed tone, he lowers his voice to a whisper and leans closer. “It’s just in Professor Javert’s stores, that’s all. But I’ll have it for you by the task.”

“Do you need help getting it?” Enjolras asks, sliding the textbook on aquatic Herbology across the table towards him and peering at the page, open to a statement about Gillyweed. 

Combeferre’s expression remains cryptically unreadable as he shakes his head. “No. Leave it to me. You focus on the rest of the task, and for Merlin’s sake, Enj, get some  _ rest!”  _

Enjolras nods, a somewhat absent gesture. “Yes, sure, thank you. Just . . . be careful, okay? Javert’s not the most . . . forgiving professor.”

“I know,” Combeferre replies. “Don’t worry. We still have to figure out what the rest of the riddle means.”

“Right. I’ll get on that.”

“ _ Tomorrow.  _ It’s nearly sunrise, we should try and get some sleep.”

“Right,” Enjolras says again. 

But of course, he doesn’t get a wink of sleep.

He opts to watch the sunrise instead, though he finds it more unnerving than anything.

* * *

 

It’s far too bright when Enjolras wakes up on the day of the second task and Jehan is shaking him and yelling at him that he’s late it’s about to start he has to go—

He barely has time to get dressed, tugging on a mismatched pair of socks and not bothering to do his hair, leaving his blonde curls a tousled mess. He trips down the stairs out of the common room, searching the corridors with desperate, wild eyes for Combeferre.

Enjolras doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until ‘Ferre tugs at his arm, pulling him to the side, and he finally releases it all in a sigh of relief.

He’s still slightly lightheaded as he tries to follow what Combeferre is saying. “Here’s the Gillyweed; I trust you had time to figure out the rest of the riddle?”

“What?” Enjolras stammers, closing his fist around the decidedly slimy green vines Combeferre presses into his hand. 

“You know. The rest of it. What you’re going into the lake to find.”

Enjolras thinks he might be sick. Desperately trying to school his features into what he hopes is a confident smile, he says, “yeah. Of course. I got it.”

He’s a terrible liar.

Blessedly, Combeferre merely levels him with a look, not commenting any further on the matter.

“Good luck,” he finally says, offering Enjolras a pat on the back before slipping back into the crowd. 

But Enjolras cannot even gather his thoughts enough to thank him. The rest of the riddle—what had it been?  _ Come seek us where our voices sound,  _ but he’d figured that part out already. He just had to—

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle,” comes Valjean’s announcement.

Forget the riddle.

It doesn’t matter. 

It can’t matter.

Because Enjolras is outside by the lake now, the other headmasters casting him cool looks (clearly, some of them had thought he was not going to show up today), hoping he doesn’t look as terrified as he feels. 

“They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One . . . two . . . three!"

Enjolras shoves the Gillyweed into his mouth almost automatically, trying not to retch as he does so.

_ They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. _

He steps towards the lake.

_ Wove taken what you'll sorely miss. _

The other champions dive in.

_ But past an hour- the prospect's black _

Enjolras jumps.

_ Too late, it's gone, it won’t come back _

As the frigid water engulfs him, he realizes the second part of the riddle.

But he’s already too far under to process it.

* * *

 

Enjolras is underwater without oxygen and he’s forgotten how to think. Merlin, he’s forgotten how to  _ breathe,  _ and it’s so cold that with each shaky inhale he feels a rattling in his chest. 

He’s going to drown.

He’s going to die without ever saving the person he’s meant to, and whoever is at the bottom of the lake is going to end up dead too.

Closing his eyes, Enjolras makes one last desperate attempt to breathe. 

He’s so surprised by the rush of air that immediately fills his lungs that he gasps, before realizing the miracle of that action, too.

Wincing at a sudden stab of pain, Enjolras reaches up to feel the side of his neck, hand finding slits that hadn’t been there before— _ gills. _

As he pulls his hand away he catches a glimpse of his fingers, now webbed together. He doesn’t stifle the smile that spreads across his face as he kicks, propelling himself further under the water. 

His joy is short-lasting, however, because it’s hardly a few seconds before he blinks, looking around and taking in his surroundings and realizing how desolate they are.

The silence is deafening somehow, a bleak, amorphous landscape spanning in every direction. Only able to see a few feet around him at any given moment, as he continues to swim he remains incredibly wary of each rippling forest of kelp or small school of fish that darts past. Aside from them, Enjolras realizes, he’s entirely alone. No champions. No merpeople. No giant squid—blessedly. But also no . . . whoever he’s supposed to be looking for.

Having only just figured out that aspect of the riddle, Enjolras hasn’t given much thought to who it might be. His first instinct is Combeferre, but no, he’d seen ‘Ferre just beforehand. So that meant—

His train of thought is interrupted as he feels something wrap around his ankle.

Kicking desperately, Enjolras draws his wand. A small green arm has wrapped his foot in a vicelike grip, and through the murky water he catches a glimpse of beady emerald eyes.

A grindylow.

He yells an incantation, but underwater his voice is muted and a few bubbles escape his lips. He tries again as the creature’s grip tightens, still kicking.

A rush of water from his wand propels the grindylow backwards as the spell finally works. Swimming further and now much faster, Enjolras continues deeper, forcing himself not to look back to see what other creatures could be lurking behind.  It’s a wise decision, really, seeing as he’s suddenly face-to-face with . . .

_ Merlin.  _ What  _ is  _ that?

From the stories and books, he’s expected merpeople to be ethereal, humanoid beings. But the creatures before him are wraithlike and haggard, with grey-green skin and citrine yellow eyes. They’re chanting softly, a variant of the singsong riddle.

_ ". . . your time's half gone, so tarry not, lest what you seek stays here to rot. ..." _

Enjolras carefully navigates past the merpeople, to where a small cluster of people are bound to a stone statue.

He peers at them, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing—

But then his eyes land on Grantaire and his vision tunnels as he forgets everything else.

* * *

  
_ Of course. _

Of course it’s Grantaire. 

Enjolras is going to be sick.

His dark curls float loosely in the water, eyes closed, olive skin deathly pale. Enjolras crosses the distance between them before he starts tugging at the seaweed ropes that bind him. He pulls hopelessly, to no avail. Eyes scanning his surroundings, they alight on a small, jagged piece of rock. 

Enjolras is careful to be as gentle as he can as he methodically works at the rope, slicing gingerly at the seaweed. It’s a slow, painstaking process, made all the more agonizing by the thrum of the riddle that continues to play itself over and over in his head. 

_ Too late, it's gone, it won’t— _

The ropes come undone, Grantaire’s unconscious form slumping forward. Enjolras steps forward to catch him, drawing him close and keeping an arm wrapped securely around him as he begins to head back towards the surface. He dimly registers that he’s probably almost run out of time, but he doesn’t much mind that because—

Grantaire’s here.

He’s here and he’s going to be okay.

Enjolras is going to make sure of it.

At his next intake of air, however, his breath itches.

_ No. _

How long had Combeferre said the Gillyweed would last?

How long had it been?

With his free hand, Enjolras reaches up. His fingers are no longer webbed. He finds the side of his neck, where he feels only smooth skin.

No gills.

Enjolras can see the sunlight. 

He swims faster, though he doesn’t realize how reliant he’d been on the abilities granted to him by the Gillyweed until now, when he no longer has them.

He shifts Grantaire in his arms, still trying to be as gentle as possible, telling himself that he’s close,  _ so very close. _

But the surface is still so far away . . .

* * *

Enjolras collapses onto the shore, rolling onto his back and letting himself finally breathe once more.

It’s a few moments later that he remembers Grantaire, and he sits up, taking the towel they’d given to him and carefully tucking it around ‘Taire’s shoulders.

He doesn’t realize he’s taken his hand until Grantaire’s eyes finally open, wide with confusion as his gaze lands on their intertwined fingers. He looks back up, voice raspy as he says, “Enjolras?” 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras replies. “You’re okay.”

“They said one of the champions was—they said I was—”

Enjolras knits his brow, trying to follow his slightly incoherent words.

“I was the thing you’d miss the most,” Grantaire finally manages to stammer out. 

“Um. Yes. I suppose you were.” Enjolras isn’t quite sure how else to respond.

“I—I just didn’t think it’d be me, you know? I didn’t think—” Grantaire huffs out a laugh, letting go of Enjolras’s hand as he pushes himself up to a sitting position. “I didn’t think it’d be me,” he says again.

Enjolras scrunches his shoulders into a shrug, averting his gaze. He doesn’t say anything else, for once at a loss for words.

“Thank you, by the way.” Grantaire takes his hand once more, though it’s a tentative gesture. 

“Oh, um, you’re welcome.” Enjolras looks up, trying for a smile.

They’re announcing the scores, something about timing and points and champions, but Enjolras cannot think about that; how can he possibly, when he sees Grantaire smile back?

(He may no longer be underwater, but it seems he’s forgotten how to breathe once more).

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ok so yeah this was a fun au to write so i hope you liked reading it!! and also happy barricade day!! 
> 
> also a shoutout to my barricade gay @oddlyqueer ilysm <3


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